


The Courting of Sigyn

by Barbeauxbot



Series: Always Dragging That Horse Around: The Love, Marriage, and Everything Else In Between of Loki and Sigyn [1]
Category: Cracksmash - Fandom, Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Thor (Comics)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-29
Packaged: 2017-12-13 01:44:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/818508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barbeauxbot/pseuds/Barbeauxbot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the events starting with Sigyn's betrothal to Theoric and the inevitable complications that occur when she meets Loki.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Have Seen Your Flag On the Marble Arch

**Author's Note:**

> Alfrún is one of Sigyn's (many) sisters, and the one she is closest to. She goes to stay with Alfrún whenever she is fighting too much with her father to stay under the same roof. 
> 
> The snake nightmare she refers to is a recurring dream she has of her eventual fate. She just doesn't know that's what she's seeing.

"I wish I could stay here." Sigyn hugged a pillow to her chest and looked up at Alfrún with imploring eyes. 

Her sister looked down at her kindly. "So do I. But you cannot. Father would have you married and in a home of your own."

"I do not want to get married. Ever." Sigyn fidgeted and grabbed another pillow to hide under. 

Alfrún laughed and tickled her ribs. "None of that, wee bit. You must finish packing. My lord husband will have the horses saddled soon. You return to our father's house today."

Sigyn groaned and flailed. "But what if my betrothed is ugly or stupid or cruel or dull?"

"You learn to appreciate his unique visage, educate him, bring him in line or enlighten him." Alfrún retrieved all the pillows and placed them at the head of the bed, and then wound her arms around Sigyn's waist and kissed her cheek. "Besides, Father would not do such a thing to you."

Sigyn's lips twisted. "You really think so?"

"Of course I do. I heard the man in question is a cadet in the Crimson Guard. You'd be two steps from the palace! Think of all the fancy parties." Alfrún grinned and tucked a lock of hair behind Sigyn's ear. "I am certain he is tall and brawny and handsome and courageous and possessed of fine humor and sharp wit."

Sigyn smiled and let herself enjoy the fantasy. "Will he have a beard?"

Alfrún leaned close and whispered, her eyes twinkling. "Just enough to make it interesting."

Sigyn frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Do not play that game with me, wee bit." Alfrún yanked her off the bed and to her feet. "Mother and Father might think you still innocent but I know you are no maid." She smiled and smoothed her hair. "And I am sure your betrothed has known the touch of a woman as well. But keep up the act, it feeds their egos. And the egos of men are precious, delicate things and we must take care they are well-tended less they perish."

Sigyn giggled helplessly, pressing her palms to her flaming cheeks. "Very well. Do not tell Father."

"Do not be ridiculous, the less Father knows the better." Alfrún ruffled her hair and then smoothed it.

"Can I tell you something, then? In confidence." Sigyn chewed her lip. 

"Anything," Alfrún groaned and shoved her. "Just pack while you tell me."

Sigyn giggled and began packing. "The snake dream, the nightmare, that is not the only recurring dream I have. There is another, but it is less clear. I think… I think it might be dreams of my husband."

Alfrún smiled at her. "Truly? And what have your dreams foretold?"

Sigyn blushed and glanced down, feeling foolish. "Not much." She shook her head, trying to grasp at threads of dreams that always evaporated as soon as she woke. "It is simply… an image that repeats sometimes. He is tall. And lean." She folded a chemise against her chest. "I cannot remember much else."

"Perhaps your Crimson Guardsman is not so broadly built then." Alfrún winked. "How do you feel in those dreams. Do you remember that much?"

Sigyn frowned a little as she considered this, and began gathering up her jewelry. "Maybe. I am not sure. Sort of… excited? And maybe a little afraid. Sometimes angry and sometimes sad. Perhaps I am wrong." Her fingers curled over her bracelets. "Perhaps my dreams mean something else." 

"Perhaps," Alfrún sighed. "But if not, I would say that excited and a little afraid are things I felt at first, though that did not last long. Anger is common." She . "And sadness is a given. Perhaps your interpretation is correct." 

Sigyn screwed her lips to the side as she slipped the rest of her jewelry into her pack. "You do not make a very good case for marriage."

Alfrún barked a laugh. "That is not my doing. That is the fault of the men we inevitably chain ourselves to. Come." She hefted Sigyn's pack and kissed her cheek. "The one who no longer frightens nor excites me is waiting with the horses."


	2. Not a Victory March

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sigyn fights with her mother and meets Theoric.

"No. Not the serpent. You will look ridiculous." Dómhildr looked her over, her eyes critical. "And wear the pink belt with that skirt."

"But I like the serpent." She tightened her hands on the headpiece. As if holding it tighter would change her mother’s mind.

Dómhildr rolled her eyes. "The serpent represents wisdom, child. Who ever heard of a wise little girl? Belgr and Theoric will think you are putting on airs."

She glared at the headpiece. “Is it so wrong to aspire to wisdom?”

"Nobody wants a fiancee with aspirations of wisdom. She will be nothing but a nag." Dómhildr's look turned to a withering glare. "You confuse wisdom with stubbornness, just like your father. I should make you wear the cow horns."

Sigyn could barely speak she was so horrified at the thought. "Mother, no! They're so _ugly_!"

"Cat ears." Dómhildr pulled the headpiece from her jewel box. "For vanity."

Sigyn flushed with embarrassment. Cat ears. So juvenile. "Yes, Mother."

“And wear this short bodice, not that long one.” Dómhildr pulled a lightly armored chest piece out of Sigyn’s wardrobe that barely extended past her bust. One that Sigyn never wore, for precisely that reason.

“But it’s cold!” Sigyn wrapped her arms around her middle. “I will freeze.”

“You will not.” Dómhildr sighed. “You dance too much. It has made you thin. If you do not show the muscles in your abdomen, Theoric will think you scrawny. And he is a large man, he needs a strong woman.”

Sigyn yanked her top off and pulled the shorter one over her head. “I am strong.”

“I am well aware, daughter. The point is making sure your betrothed is aware as well.” Dómhildr laced up the back of the bodice, making it tighter than Sigyn preferred, and smoothed her hair back from her shoulders, eying her critically in the mirror. “It will have to do. Try to watch your tongue, nobody needs to hear your insulting attempts at jests.”

“Yes, Mother.” Sigyn lifted her chin and smoothed her expression, and did her best to ignore the butterflies in her gut.

****

* * *

 

After she was dressed and primped to her mother's satisfaction, Sigyn was finally led to the sitting room where her father was already entertaining the man who would be her husband and his father. All three rose when Sigyn and Dómhildr entered.

“My honored daughter,” Lannis smiled and stepped forward and took Sigyn’s hand, drawing her into the room.

She smiled back, just as falsely. “You flatter me, Father.” She curtsied deeply to Belgr and Theoric.

“Surely not,” intoned Belgr, sounding bored.

“Allow me to introduce my sweet Sigyn,” Lannis said as Sigyn rose from her curtsy. “My darling, this is Belgr Framrson. The father of Theoric Belgrson, your betrothed.”

Sigyn smiled graciously at both of them. “It is a great honor to meet both of you.” She looked at Theoric, searching for that phantom from her dream. He was not so tall, and his shoulders much broader. His expression was bland, his eyes a sort of watery blue and his thick red-gold beard did little to mask his weak jawline. “It is an honor to meet you as well, my lady,” he nodded, speaking in the same disinterested tone as his father.

“Yes, an honor,” said Belgr.

Sigyn kept her smile in place.

“Perhaps the two of you would like to have some time together so as to get to know one another,” Lannis ushered Sigyn toward Theoric, and nodded toward the door. “The rear garden is not extensive, but quite lovely this time of year.”

Theoric blinked, taken off guard.

“The peonies are blooming, and quite the envy of our neighbors.” Sigyn smoothly covered Theoric’s awkward silence and lightly placed her hand on his well-muscled arm.

Theoric looked at her hand on his arm, his brow furrowing slightly and his lips turning down. “I would see these remarkable peonies.”

She smiled and curtsied to her father and Belgr before leading Theoric out the side door and to the rear garden, the smell of orange blossoms thick in the cool spring evening air. Sigyn stole glances at Theoric as they walked. She hoped perhaps once they were out of the company of her irritating father and his dull one, her betrothed would let his mask slip and a more engaging personality might emerge.

They walked in silence. He trudged along where she led him, not showing any particular interest in where they were going. The butterflies in her gut began to calm.

“Here they are,” she said, feeling a bit of pride at the gorgeous fist-sized blooms. “My younger sister, Unnr, and I have worked very hard on them.”

“They are quite... red, my lady,” Theoric said, as if he were struggling to find something good to say about them. “Do you enjoy gardening much?”

“Oh, yes.” She stepped away from him and gently drifted her fingers over one of the flowers. “I find it fascinating,” she smiled at him over her shoulder. “But am I right in assuming it is not one of your areas of interest?”

“It is not,” Theoric stated flatly, his eyes critical on her, judging her body. “I enjoy the hunt. And the annual games. I am an accomplished wrestler.”

“Oh!” Sigyn turned to face him, smiling as she made a connection. “I thought you looked familiar. You won the bout against Stígandi.”

Theoric lifted his chin, pleased. “I did. I did not know you follow the sport.”

“I try. My studies claim much of my time. But when I can, it is one of the things I enjoy.” It was a lie, of course. She did not care for the sport at all. But a woman who was very interesting had been interested, and so she had accompanied her. Her gambit proved successful, and the lady in question was a very pleasant partner for a few weeks. Until Sigyn had teetered at the edge of developing feelings for her, and had subsequently stopped seeing her. Like she did every time.

“Well. It is good that you observed that one, and not the next.” Theoric frowned deeply. “My next match was against Tveggi. It should have been easy. It was not.” His jaw clenched. “I believe the conditions were tampered with so to ensure his victory.”

Sigyn kept her expression calm, trying to hide her skepticism. “Who would go through the trouble to rig a wrestling match?”

“I have my theories.” Theoric glowered darkly, but did not elaborate.

The silence stretched into the space where it was awkward. “Do you like to dance?” Sigyn tried, hoping against hope.

“No. Dancing is for fools and children.”

“Oh.” The last of the butterflies died. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, my lady.” Theoric smiled, not unkindly.

“Why did you want to get married?” Her fingers slid along the stems of the peonies as they bobbed in the light breeze.

He tilted his head. “Do not most men desire a wife?”

“Perhaps. But why now? Why not before or later?” _Why me?_

“I suppose it occurred to me when the queen noticed that I was the only bachelor among the guard.” He shrugged. “I asked myself what I was waiting for. And I could not come up with an answer. Is that satisfactory?” His eyes betrayed a flicker of anxiety, as if he were afraid that she might press for more details.

“It is.” She smiled, certain Theoric had no more complicated a thought process than that on the matter. “Let us go back inside.”

And she led him back to the house, keeping her steps light as he trudged beside her, and trying to dismiss the feeling that she was walking into a tomb.


	3. Bathing on the Roof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sigyn is introduced at court, and meets a certain prince, and certain complications arise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This particular part is an expansion of Miri1984's drabble, "Look" chapter 16 in her "30 Ways to Trick a Trickster" series.

Theoric decided to formally introduce her to court at the autumn ball. Sigyn was not quite sure what to expect, she had not been to an event at court since she had been presented with the rest of the youths and maidens when she entered collegium, which was decades ago. All she remembered of the ballroom was the massively high ceilings and the crowds of people and the huge fire pits that seemed specifically designed to singe the hems of the unwary.

Her mother spent weeks developing the perfect attire, and Sigyn fought her on every detail from how many layers of sheer overskirt she should wear (the final number was three) to how many inches of her abdomen was to be exposed (Sigyn lost that battle, as her mother was insistent that her skirt be low enough in the back to expose the dimples on her back). But Sigyn was able to leverage that loss into finally winning a victory on the head piece.

“His colleagues may think you a nag, but at least they will know he can keep you in your place.” Her mother said, her mouth a thin, angry line as Sigyn carefully arranged her hair around the head piece.

“Yes, I am sure that is precisely what they will be thinking,” Sigyn said, keeping her tone perfectly even and not at all sarcastic.

 

* * *

 

By now Sigyn was fully aware that she was not the type of woman her betrothed considered attractive. But her mother’s efforts had not been in vain, and when Theoric arrived to escort her to the palace she saw an actual glimmer of interest in his eyes when he looked at her. “You look lovely, my lady,” he said in his bored-sounding way.

She smiled and smoothed her skirts. “Thank you. My lady mother is quite adept at fashions.”

He made a noncommittal grunting sound, which he always made when he was not particularly interested in a topic but wasn’t willing to put the effort into changing to a different one. Sigyn tried to think of something worth talking about that would also interest him, but found herself at a loss. So they traveled in silence.

****

* * *

 

The palace was just as big as she remembered, the ceilings soaring so high they were lost in darkness. The crowd was not quite as noisy as the last time, due to the more mature age of the guests. Though they were innumerable, and all seemed anxious to congratulate her and Theoric. She smiled until her face hurt, doing her level best to appear the happy fiancee.

It really wasn’t that hard. The others were more familiar with Theoric, and addressed him more than her, and so the number of lies she had to tell don’t pile up too high.

There was dancing, of course. And Theoric was, as always, reluctant to dance.

“Please,” she said quietly, her voice calm. She refused to reveal just how badly she wanted to dance. “Would you humor me with just one? You will look so grand in the firelight in your armor.”

Theoric looked her over, the earlier glimmer of interest thoroughly stoked by the several glasses of wine he had before the meal, and the several more with the meal, and then several more after. “As you wish, my lady,” he leered and kissed her fingers with damp lips before rising and leading her to the dance floor.

Of course, his earlier disparaging of the art played out in a way that she really should have expected. Theoric was a terrible dancer, stumbling over her feet and lurching haphazardly. She managed to dodge the worst of it, and even was able to correct them enough that he didn’t make a total spectacle of the two of them. Of course his habit of constantly glancing over her head to watch the other dancers only made things worse. By the blessed end of the waltz she was grateful that she had only asked him for one.

“Thank you, my lord,” she smiled up at him, reminding herself that he specifically told her that he did not care for dancing so it really was a nice gesture he just made for her.

Theoric was about to say something in response when he frowned suddenly, looking over her head at somebody behind her.

“Theoric! What an unexpected pleasure it is to have you grace us with a dance.”

Sigyn turned to see Prince Loki approaching them. She dropped her gaze respectfully and held her hands behind her back, waiting for Theoric to introduce her.

“Your highness,” Theoric was too drunk to mask the undercurrent of deep dislike in his voice and Sigyn stole a glance at the taller, leaner man, wondering what could have transpired between them.

For his part, the prince smiled at Theoric. “Will you not introduce me to the lady?”

Theoric frowned. “Prince Loki, Lady Sigyn. Lady Sign, Prince Loki.”

Sigyn curtsied deeply to the prince. “It is an honor to meet you, your highness.”

“You grace our humble palace with your presence, my lady,” Loki caught her hand and chastely brushed her knuckles with his lips. Sigyn’s eyes widened at the unexpected chill of his skin, and her heart skipped a beat.

Theoric coughed and lay a hand on Sigyn’s arm. “You are far too kind, your highness.”

Loki lifted a hand to stop them from leaving as the music began again. “Might I beg the honor of one dance with the lady?”

Theoric glowered at Loki and then at her. Sigyn met his gaze, his watery eyes narrowed in anger. “Far be it from me to deny his highness,” Sigyn said before turning her eyes to Loki. “I would love to.”

“So be it. Your highness,” Theoric nodded stiffly and then made his way back to the table and the wine.

Sigyn offered her hand to Loki and he held it delicately, gently pulling her closer as they stepped into rhythm with the music. After dancing with Theoric, which was more akin to wrestling than dancing, the prince’s easy grace and perfect rhythm left her feeling like she was floating.

He looked down at her, a glimmer of humor in his glass green eyes. “I understand you have the dubious honor of being betrothed to Theoric.”

She blinked, taken aback, but recovered quickly. “There is nothing dubious about my honor, your highness.”

“Truly? Is it not more interesting when there is room for doubt?” His voice dropped a little more, and he subtly pulled her closer.

“I would prefer room to breathe. You hold me so close, my lord.” She pulled away slightly, covering the shiver up her spine .

He smiled and spun them, leading them toward the balcony, looking away from her for the first time to navigate through the crowd. “The room is close, m’lady. Perhaps we should take some air outside.”

“As attractive as that thought is,” and it was an _intensely_ attractive thought, “your honor is more dubious than mine. There would be talk.”

He laughed, genuinely delighted. “Of course there would be talk. Unless you prefer we occupy ourselves with more pleasant pursuits.”

Sigyn couldn’t help but smile, and found herself feeling mischievous. “I confess, nothing more pleasant than _talking_ comes to mind, my lord.”

His gaze on her turned heated. “A thousand more pleasant pursuits come to mind when I gaze upon your lips, m’lady. Perhaps I could introduce you to some new diversions. Your education appears to be lacking, and your betrothed uninspiring.”

She blushed and glanced away, her ability to be clever suddenly abandoning her. “My lips?” _A hit. A palpable hit. Damn him._

“Yes.” He spoke low in a purr as he went for the kill. “I can think of so many things more interesting than mere words to pass between your perfect lips. And, if I do not misjudge the exquisite blush on your cheeks, so can you.”

She scrambled to recover. “You do misjudge me, my lord.”

He chuckled, a warm rich sound. “Oh, I doubt that.”

She lifted her chin, her lips curving in an arch smile. “Your hand has slipped lower on my waist and your fingers are very cold. The surprise made me blush.”

He held her closer, his hands already feeling warmer. “Perhaps you could help me warm them.”

“Perhaps the fire would suffice.” She was left breathless, and longed to close the distance between their lips, to taste and feel him. Her head spun. It was madness.

“Perhaps you could join me there.” His long, cool fingers trailed up her spine, and for the first time in her life, Sigyn was grateful for her mother’s meddling. “Between you and the fire my hands would be very warm indeed.”

The music ended and she stepped out of his hold. “Perhaps I am needed elsewhere. By your leave, your highness.” And she ran back to Theoric’s side before he could answer.

She did not leave her seat at the table for the rest of the evening. But every once in a while her resolve would slip, and she would steal a glance at the prince who both excited and frightened her. And every time he met her gaze, his lips curved in a smile and something deeper than humor or mischief lurking behind his eyes.


	4. What's Real and Going On Below

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sigyn suffers the consequences of her indiscretion, and then is visited by a raven bearing gifts.

Sigyn was still humming the song to herself the next day as she sat down to study. She was not left to her own devices for long.

“Father would speak with you, sister,” Unnr said in a sugar-sweet voice, leaning against the doorframe and smirking cruelly. “In the library.”

The song died in Sigyn’s throat. “I am studying.”

“He knows. He would speak with you, anyway.” Unnr pushed up off the doorframe and sauntered off. “If you wish to defy him, so be it. I did what I was told.”

Sigyn’s fingers tightened on her pen and she clenched her teeth. “Fine.” She spat at her book, tossing her pen down and stalking to the library, her shoulders tense.

 

* * *

 

Lannis was a huge man, broad and tall, of solid build and a deep-seated assurance of his own importance that made him seem even larger than he was. He managed to loom over Sigyn even while half-lounging in his preferred wing chair. She stood before him, her hands clasped in front of her, keeping her gaze on the floor somewhere in between the two of them. Her focus traveled along the pattern on the carpet, one she had memorized by now.

“And how was the ball, child? Was it a success?” Lannis spoke softly, his deep, rumbling voice carrying the ever-present undercurrent of menace.

“I believe it was, Father.” Sigyn’s hands tightened slightly, her heart racing even though she knew she had done nothing wrong.

“You do?” His tone became mocking. “How very interesting.”

She swallowed and reminded herself to breathe. “Yes, I do.” She couldn’t stop the note of defiance. She had done nothing wrong.

“Unfortunately, your betrothed does not agree with your assessment. Indulge me for a moment, think back and consider your actions. What could he have possibly taken exception to?” His tone left no doubt that there was exactly one response he expected.

Sigyn’s lips worked silently for a moment, as she tried to stand her ground. It was one dance, a bright, shining moment in an otherwise dismal evening. “I danced with Prince Loki,” she said, her voice nearly a whisper.

“Ah, but it was not simply the dance that was the problem, was it?” Lannis tapped his finger on the arm of the chair. “It was the smiles, the blushes, the stolen glances the rest of the evening. You were flirting with the man.”

Sigyn burned with shame. “He was pleasant company.”

“I have met him myself, on occasion. I would not describe his company as ‘pleasant’. But then again, neither is yours, so I suppose that is where the attraction may be found.” Lannis waved his hand dismissively. “My daughter, I would explain something to you. Are you listening?”

“Yes, Father.”

“There is one inevitable ending to this tale: he takes advantage of your infatuation, and then tires of you.”

“I’m not infatuated--”

“Do not insult me with your lies, girl.” Lannis’ tone became more overtly threatening. “You underestimate how difficult it was to arrange this marriage for you. I will not have you throwing away your prospects for the trophy of being a notch on a royal bedpost.”

“I have no interest in being a notch anywhere, Father.” She grit her teeth.

“Excellent. I suggest that you remember as much the next time you encounter a member of the royal family and act accordingly.”

“I already have acted accordingly. I did nothing to invite or encourage his interest.” Her frustration boiled over. “Would you hold me responsible for somebody else’s behavior as well as my own?”

“You know perfectly well how to be off-putting and unpleasant, Sigyn. I suggest you use those skills you have so carefully honed.” Lannis said, his voice cruel. “The problem will take care of itself. You may go.”

Sigyn trembled as she left, and went straight back to her room. But her heart thundered painfully in her chest, and she could not focus on her studies through the angry tears welling in her eyes. The walls closed in on her, she could not breathe. She yanked her cloak out of the wardrobe and wrapped it around her shoulders, going out to the garden.

She sat, shivering a little in the chill as the sun slowly set, her heart still aching, though it had ceased to be a thunderous ache and now was just a familiar dull, cold one.

Her father was only half-right, of course. As he often was. But it was useless trying to explain things to him. The question of whether or not the prince was interested in her was moot. She had not missed the look of antipathy that passed between him and Theoric. It was clear that the attention Loki paid her had precious little to do with _her_ and everything to do with settling the score with Theoric.

Her lips twisted, fresh anger curdling her stomach. Was it so much to ask that a person might like her for who she was? And not use her as part of some game, to score points against a rival before discarding her, or to leverage her into a better social standing. No, her parents were right. She was too bitter, her tongue too sharp, and she was not beautiful enough to fool anybody into overlooking her flaws. She gave up and began to weep bitterly, covering her eyes with the edge of her cloak.

A chill wind blew, and she pulled her cloak tighter around her, still covering her eyes as she wept. A raven cried once overhead. And then a second time, closer. By the third time it cried it sounded noticeably impatient and she looked up to see it perched on the bench beside her, tilting its head and cawing.

She frowned at the bird, then sniffled and wiped her nose on the edge of her cloak. “What do you want.”

The raven pulled its head back and blinked, as if it were somehow actually disgusted.

“Oh, as if you are so proud. When was the last time you used a bird bath? You probably defecated in it.” Sigyn huffed and pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket and wiped her nose with that instead. “There. Better?”

The crow made a chattering sound and ruffled it’s feathers before flapping off. Sigyn rolled her eyes and wiped her tears from her face. “Etiquette lessons from a _bird_ ,” she muttered to herself. “This entire realm is determined to pester me.”

The raven returned and dropped an orange lily in her lap. She stared at it, and then looked around to see who could have sent it and if she was being watched. She picked up the flower with nerveless fingers. “Orange lily... But... Who would hate me so?”

The bird shrieked in frustration and reared back, flapping its wings.

She blinked at it. “Not hatred?”

The bird calmed and bumped her arm with its head.

“So. Not hatred.” She noted a note tied to the stem with a green ribbon. She fingered it, blushing suddenly. “So. Desire or passion. I suppose those are the other side of the coin from hatred.” The crow bumped her arm again. She took a breath and calmed herself before opening the note.

_My Lady Sigyn,_

_I thought I knew all of the other magisters in this realm. How can it be that you have bewitched me so completely? Could it be that your beauty, your grace, your delicious wit is no other magic than that which sparks your soul?_

Sigyn set the note down. “I cannot read this.”

The bird squawked and nipped her hand.

“Ow!” She swat at it. “Fine! You are the most particular bird I have ever had the displeasure of encountering. If you plan to take up residence here I will find a snake to eat you.”

The bird hopped around to her other side and nipped her other hand. She smacked it away and continued reading.

_The palace is unfathomably poorer in your absence. The halls dim and vacant, the inhabitants dull and ugly, my bed vast and--_

She gasped and folded the letter in her lap, and then set it on the bench next to her, blushing violently. “Ancestors!”

The bird shrieked in protest.

Gingerly, she picked the letter back up and continued reading, feeling lightheaded.

_...my bed vast and cold. I need you, sweet Sigyn. I need your shining eyes and delicious lips. I need the exquisite blush that brightens your lovely face. I need to hold you in my arms once more, feel your lithe body pressed against mine moving in perfect rhythm. I need your delicate scent on my pillow when you are not there._

_I know not when you will return. How shall I endure? How can anybody endure such torment? Your presence so enriches my life, your absence cannot be borne. Release me from my torment, grace me with your presence so that I might adore you as you deserve._

_I assume that you will be granting us the honor of your presence at the Solstice Feast. What a torturous season will pass until I behold you again!  I have taken the liberty of providing a dance card. You need not concern yourself with such trifling matters._

_And until you take pity on my aching heart and return to me, I remain_

_Your ever faithful_

_Prince Loki Odinson_

Sigyn shook her head slowly as she folded the letter, stunned into speechlessness. She looked at the dance card. The first dance was marked “Theoric, if you must” and the rest were all filled in with “Prince Loki”. She bit her lip and put the letter and the card in the envelope, and looked at the lily with a mixture of longing and sorrow. The raven preened.

“It is an intolerable cruelty,” she whispered to herself, feeling as if she ought to cry again but not finding the will.

The raven trilled and bumped her. She stood, shaking out her cloak and clutching the flower close to her, hiding it from view. “I will not write an answer, so you can return to the one who sent you.” She turned to go and then stopped when a thought occurred.

She took the dance card out of the envelope and tore it to pieces before shoving it back in. She handed the envelope to the bird. “There is my answer.”

She walked back to the house, keeping her head high, ignoring the raven’s outraged cawing. She might have no control over her life, but she would not part with her dignity.  And she kept the flower and the letter, hiding both in her school books. Unable to part with the sweet memory of the dance, and unwilling to let go of the feeling of being wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the next part in this story, read "Checks and Balances" by Miri1984


End file.
